You Will Come to Know Him by the Trail of Dead
by Christopher Nihil
Summary: If you seek his monument, look around you.


You Will Come to Know Him by the Trail of Dead

By: Spacelord

Rating: MA (Adult situations, profanity and violence).

Summary: If you seek his monument, look around you.

Spoilers: None. This is AU.

Disclaimers: Farscape is the property of Henson Company, Hallmark Entertainment and the Sci-Fi Channel. Story concept is property of Christopher L. Stine. All characters used here are for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended and no monetary compensation has been received.

Category: Drama.

Archiving: Yes. Please let me know when you do it.

Note: This will probably be my last Farscape short story. If you would like, you can send feedback to .

"_Time is_," he said.

There was a pause, then the universe blinked, and then silence.

And it remained only in our memories.

****

The only good thing about the rain here is that is washes away all the filth. It doesn't help anything to grow – be a miracle if it did. I stick out my tongue and regret it instantly – there's a foul, metallic taste. Rivulets cascade off my cloak while I run down a maze of streets and alleys, through cul-de-sacs and over crumbling foundations, spraying water with each slap of my boots striking the pavement. I pause briefly under each roof I can find so as not to look too conspicuous. Not that it helps to dry me out. It's raining buckets here, just like the last three planets. Trenches and gutters are filled to the brim – foam swirls over the flooded drains. Welcome to the deluge.

I hold onto my hood and crane my head up to squint at the storm above. Coin sized droplets sting my face, and a dead gray sky hangs cold over me. He alters the weather on every world he touches, as much as he alters every other goddamned thing. I should be used to it, but I'm not. I used to love the sound of rain tapping on a roof when I lived on Earth. Even the roll of thunder from a distance could lull me to sleep. Now, I'm just miserable.

The crash of rain against hard stone drowns out all the calls of the merchants that line the adjoining streets as much as it does the device beeping on my belt trying to get my attention. I wipe moisture off the screen of my tracking scanner and get a fix on his position. Readings confirm my route. I'm wet to the bone, but at least I'm closer. Two more blocks and I would rendezvous with him, hopefully without him broken, bleeding or changed in the way he has been before.

I don't do this for him because I wanted to – I have to do it. _Happenstance of genetics,_ he used to say to me. I preferred to call it a bad accident, but he would frown when I say it. Then I would tell him its bullshit.

"Pilot? You there?"

My comm crackled with static, then silence. These days, he took entirely too long to answer.

"_We are here."_

"I'm almost there. Are you and Moya well-rested?"

"_We have sufficiently rested and are ready to depart this system when you and the Commander are on board." _

"Stand by." I didn't believe him, but arguing would be pointless.

Leaning forward, I rushed out and fought against the rain yet again, cursing all the way. _Because I have to._ I just keep telling myself that_._

On the last corner, the outer wall along the city's south edge comes into view - his exit point. He ceased the need for a ship long ago. He is his own propulsion. Now if he could just get proper navigation so I didn't have to pick him up all over Hell and Hezmat's creation. He could materialize in space, metras below a planet's surface, or just like here, in an insignificant dead end in an unimportant city on a planet with no name. There will be a flash of blue light – particularly vivid when it happens in space. Down on the planets, there is a crackling sound accompanying the light. I can sense it before I can see it. There is a bell ringing in my head like a klaxon. I'm not the scientist. Don't ask me how, I just _know_.

The opening forms on the wall when I feel it hit me. My legs, already sore from running, buckle underneath me. My insides feel like they are pulling apart. Then my eyesight, my perception, the world itself, the entire galaxy and everything and anything – _blinks._

That's when I know he's changed something. And I know what it is.

He appeared midair, falling hard right beside me. I'm lucky, didn't get crushed this time. I'm just tired, hungry and sore. It was easier when he just took off in his module and returned into space like the cavalry. Now he is everywhere – and nowhere. My great, goddamned hero.

I manage to turn my head and see the blood on his temple. He stares frozen at the sky as the rain quickly washes it away.

"Welcome back," I say to him.

And then it's quiet again – except for the rain.

****

_Time is…relative._

I get him back to the transport pod and onto Moya before anyone recognizes him and tries to beat him to death with whatever blunt instrument is handy. All hail me - the regular one-person retrieval squad.

He leans into me while I walk him back to his quarters. He's weak and doesn't maintain his balance. He hasn't spoken, either. You can hear a pin drop in Moya's corridors. I like it that way. But this is a different quiet for her. A few DRDs scuttle about and a glimpse of 1812 off to the side brings back a comfortable familiarity. Fortunately, Moya and Pilot don't register the change that happened the way he and I do. I notice it in the subtle things – a shift of the stars when we reach orbit, the scent in the air, the people... and there are other people on board, familiar and unfamiliar. Conundrums abound. Like I said, don't ask me – I'm not the scientist.

We reach his chambers where I lay him down on the bed. He rolls over without protest, only a groan from exhaustion.

"Rest, I'll be right back."

It's better to move quietly after a time shift. It helps to gauge reactions and get a sense of what's different. I move through the corridors passively and examine what I see. Figures sitting quietly, shadows falling in and out of the corners of my eyes, ambient noises – I tune in to them all. Pilot can't be relied upon to give an accurate summary, as he was part of the changes. I take my time searching the chambers and causeways through Moya. Two arns. He'll sleep through the whole thing.

He's flat on his back and his eyes are open when I return.

"How do you feel?"

"Headache," he says. "Did you feel the shift?"

"Yeah."

"Did we succeed?"

I paused before answering. I never knew the right answer for that. Why did he have to ask me this? "I'm not sure."

"Rygel here?" His voice cracked slightly. It was time for the Mouseketeer role-call.

"Rygel is in his quarters, his catatonia is unchanged."

"Stark?"

"Alive, but insane."

"Chiana?"

"No."

"Scorpius?"

"Dead and insane."

He gave me a confused look, but paid it no mind. "What about Noranti?"

"The red one or the green one?"

Again, confusion. "D'Argo?"

"Dead."

"Zhaan?"

"No."

"Sikozu?"

"Still no."

"Aeryn?"

The name sounded familiar. It was somewhere in my mind, but I couldn't find it.

"Is Aeryn here?"

I didn't have the heart to tell him.

He lifted his head with considerable effort. "Is Aeryn here? Tell me!"

"No."

His head fell back on the pillow. He shut his eyes tight. I watched him grimace before he shuddered from the tears that came. I would recognize it anywhere. I had a secure line to his grief.

"Jool is here. She's been waiting for you. You do remember her, don't you?"

After a pause, his eyes re-opened. At least he was familiar with that name.

"Jool."

"Yes. Jooloshko. Jool. Would you like me to get her?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

She stood beside the doorway waiting for me to finish. Her big green eyes still shimmered with hope, still after all this time. Her hair was back to its golden color instead of the bright red. The anxiety must have worn itself off a long time ago – the lucky girl. You would think he would be grateful that there was someone in the universe who still believed in him.

That's pretty harsh of me. Okay, maybe two people, but only on my good days.

"Can I see him?"

"Go ahead," I said. "He's still tired."

She eagerly walked past me with a tray of food and water. Her long, black gossamer gown brushes against me like a breeze. It's a pleasant sensation I almost forgot about. I could hear their muffled voices as I walked back to my room. It wasn't my place to intrude on their privacy. God only knows I hear it enough at night.

After checking our position and status from Pilot, I finally notice the voices that carry from the other chambers as I walk past. Rygel hovers in the middle of his room, bobbing back and forth until the gyro in his throne sled levels him. There is no indication of recognition – he stares out towards nothing, with only the curling of his fingers and the exhalation from his mouth indicating any life. Stark wanders through the corridors behind us chanting and whispering to shadows – again, this is the same old familiar pattern now. Red Noranti is in the galley, cooking. In this reality, it might even taste good. There's no sign of the green one.

A hot shower and a soft bed are my reward for a few arns. I strip off my clothes as I make a bee line into the soothing spray of water. I pushed aside the compulsion to count the number of times I have had to retrieve him from somewhere in the universe. And to think, I'm his anchor to this reality. Just where the hell would he be without me?

I ponder it while I dry myself off and climb under the sheets. At least he said thanks.

****

_Time is…fleeting_.

_I'm dreaming._

_I get to dream briefly. I remember them all vividly, which is a fortunate trait I possess. Sometimes I dream of Earth – there were a lot of good memories there. I dream of winds blowing across a prairie against my body, of lying in the warm sun watching a trail of smoke from a jet across the sky, or of the eagles circling above. I loved the birds of Earth. I liked the ocean, too._

_And I dream of sex. It's my reward for sacrificing my freedom to look after him. I dream of a regal chamber, with velvet and incense. Sometimes I'm on a blanket in the woods. I'm wrapped in a mass of sweating, grinding bodies – male and female – holding me down and laying their hands over me. My body shudders from the touch of delicate fingers and tongues. Mouths explore me as I wait for them to fill me at both ends... _

And it ends abruptly. I roll over – half asleep – and I stare Jool right in the face. Tears stream down her cheeks and her sobbing breaks into choking gasps. She climbs into my bed, completely nude, with her perspiration and – I can smell it before I see it – blood covering her thighs and her ass.

I tell her to calm down, then wrap her trembling body in the sheets and rub her back gently. No need to ask her what happened – I've been through this before, too. I retrieve some wet towels and a salve and quietly repair the damage. Her sobs slowly decrease and she falls asleep. Then I go to deal with the problem.

The trip is cut short for me because he is already staggering in the corridor looking for her. I meet him halfway and get an earful of his babbling.

"Where is she? I have to..."

I haul off and nail him with a right hook. He staggers and collapses against the bulkhead. He puts a hand to his face and curses while he struggles to get up. Knowing what he did, he still had the nerve to look at me accusingly.

"What the fuck?"

"Because you deserved it, asshole!" I scream.

"I have to find Jool."

"She's in MY room."

"Wh–"

"Because you _fucked_ her too hard!" I made it sound as horrible as I could. "Now she's in my room recovering, like a thousand times before!"

All the anger left his face at once. "I didn't mean…" He never finishes the sentence_._

"_No, you never fucking mean to do it, because you never remember doing it after every trip down the goddamned rabbit hole! Just like you never meant to fuck up time and turn the universe and your brain into fucking Swiss cheese and turn all our lives into shit! You want an answer to your question earlier? You didn't change anything! Again! It is all chaos! Do you understand? THE UNIVERSE IS STILL IN FUCKING CHAOS AND WE ARE STILL SCREWED!"_

The corridor went quiet again. DRDs scurry out from the shadows and stare silently, their bright eyes darting back and forth at us. Pilot and Moya say nothing, but they heard. And clarity comes over our hero's face – finally.

"I didn't…"

"That's right."

"But..."

I pick him up and push him back into his room. "Go back to sleep, I say roughly. "We'll talk later."

Jool is fast asleep when I return. I lie down on the end of the bed and curl up. I can't sleep now. So much for my stress relief.

****

_Time is…chaos._

_Here is my problem..._

_We think of time in a linear pattern. It forever moves forward, so we can remember what is past but only anticipate the future – so there is no tomorrow until yesterday is. Naturally, we are all retarded clowns when it comes to this thinking._

_You see, life occurs in a cycle. That is, everything has a beginning and an end and a new beginning and so on and so on. The universe is rife with cycles, even though we cannot see them clearly. Time, even in the linear theory, is cyclic. It can repeat itself many times. In the universe, time – or its concept – is not a constant. What time is kept on Earth does not apply out here, where a century passes in a microt, or an aeon passes in the space of a solar day. Civilizations evolve and diminish in the blink on an eye._

_There are a chosen few who can see through those veils. Where it was once all theory and postulation, now it's possible, and Crichton – damn him – proved that. But time is chaos as well as order._

_Our hero has made jump after jump into the wormholes with the knowledge he possesses, passing into yesterday, attempting to repair – I stress, in HIS mind – the wrongs that he thinks occurred and tried to make them right, whatever that definition will encompass. He thinks he is repairing, but he knows better. And I? I am beginning to understand this. When he travels back (for lack of a better description), he breaks away from the cycle, creating a branch. A branch, like a fork in the road, extends out beyond the linear path, thereby breaking the flow of the cycle. He thinks he has restored something back to what it should be. He has not._

_Because…_

_Once an event in time has occurred, it is permanent. There is no turning back. Don't talk to me about the theories of Newton, or Einstein, or Hawking. What my brave but idiotic hero has done – with each attempt to travel back – is to create branch after branch in the great wheel of time. He is not traveling a single route, but layering another route upon another, creating and endless maze of channels and causeways. Imagine time was once a smooth ring; and now try to imagine it as a crown of thorns. Somehow, it's very apropos for John Crichton._

_And when the layers begin to cross into themselves, there will be no tomorrow or yesterday. There will not even be a now. There will be a paradox. Once, all things: the Peacekeepers, the Scarrans, the Xaos, the Berserkers, humankind – all feared time. Now, none of them exist. _

_Time fears Crichton._

_Time fears a paradox. _

_And now, the paradox is scratching at the door._

****

Breakfast consists of biscuits, sausage and coffee (damned with the Earth supplies on board I'm going to eat food cubes) which I stuff gratefully into my mouth when he walks into the galley.

"Hey."

"Hey. Are you feeling better?" I manage to say it with sincerity.

"I'm good," he says, not all that convincingly. "Sorry about last night."

"Water under the bridge."

He nods slowly. "Is Jool…?"

"Resting. She'll be all right. She's tougher than that." I push a plate towards him. "Eat. You need your energy."

He smiles for the first time in weeks. "Smells and looks good."

"Better than anything Red Noranti makes."

"Food in the pot wasn't good?"

I shook my head. "It'll make you vomit."

"Got it."

We ate quietly for awhile. This was routine as well. He did not look as ragged as he did the night before, never minding the shiner I gave him under his eye. His having an appetite was a really good sign.

"When you're finished," he said, putting his plate down, "I'd like to get everybody together on the command deck. I got something we all need to discuss."

This seemed different to me. He was staring out into space, not at me. "Important?"

"Very."

"I'll let them know." I swallowed the last gulp of coffee. "And Pilot, too."

He walked out of the galley and down the corridor. There was exhaustion in his steps. Where I sat, I could see Jool walk into view. They exchanged a few hushed words, then slowly wrapped their arms around each other and kissed. Again, it's the thousandth time they've made up. I don't envy the drama, but at least they have each other. My full time job of watching him did not come with the perks of companionship.

"Pilot, we're having a meeting on the command deck. Help me round everyone up."

****

"_What_ are you saying?"

He said nothing for the longest time while he walked back and forth, clenching his hands together and rubbing his thumbs over each other. This was another of his contemplative moods – the ones where he had a plan. It was his scariest mood to the rest of us.

"I'm saying... I've been doing it wrong all this time. The point of origin is where I need to return to."

"You've already been to the point of origin – several times, in fact. That's why things are the way they are."

He shakes his head. "Different point of origin. Before, I was trying to return to the ice planet, trying to stop my module from striking Aeryn's prowler. I need to travel to the time I went into space on the module. Do you remember Florida?"

I nodded. "I remember the past several times that we went to Florida. How many points of origins do you think you have now?"

He looked confused. "But this time..." he paused, "This time, I can clear the table. It's my point of origin."

"Your point of origin is where you can do the most damage."

That was another response that disappointed him. The phrase was all too familiar with him, and I felt the need to always remind him of it. "You think you can bring her back," I finished. That's what this bullshit is all about isn't it? You still think you can save her. You think you can set everything right. Your heart still overrides your brain, doesn't it?"

This time it's different, I have the answer," he said. "I talked to Einstein."

The name he gave to one of the Ancients hasn't been uttered in cycles. I could still picture the image of him through Crichton's eyes, even though I've never met him. He remained one of the few mysteries between Crichton and me.

Silence hung in the air. I turned to look at the others, hoping to gauge some kind of response from them. There was little to see. Rygel floated in his throne-sled, looking down at the stubby fingers he continuously flexed and turned over – part of some compulsive ritual he followed in his catatonia. Stark swayed back and forth slowly, muttering to himself quietly, and reciting all the prayers and sayings he had memorized over time. The Norantis looked at each other and back at us, offering to make stew for everyone.

"This time, I can finally put us all back where we belong."

"Which would be where, O fearless leader? Rygel, the Norantis and Stark back in Peacekeeper custody? Jool back in that frozen tomb you found her in? Would Pilot and Moya be free or shackled to a control collar? Would I wake up on a green field back on the planet you found me on, before the Scarrans wasted it?"

I got up and walked towards the door. "And what about you, do you think you would have Aeryn and your son back?" I continued. "Would they even know you? Would she think of you as an enemy? You're chasing a pipe dream. Wake up and realize that this is the reality you created. There's _no_ going back."

"I can send you back to your home," he countered, still desperate to make his point. "You would wake up and have no memory that the cycles here ever took place. It would be like this never was."

"_Never was?_ I would forget my ten cycles on Earth? Or the six I was out here looking after you, trying to keep you alive? I'll forget chocolate, late-night TV, Joni Mitchell songs, flannel pajamas, skiing in the Rockies - even my friendships? You would take all that from me?"

After another long confused look, he nodded his head.

"Then, fuck off."

"It's necessary, goddammit!" He grew angry, still unable to understand my utter lack of devotion to another one of his caustic visions. "You're a victim of this! Aeryn was a victim of this! I have to change it back. I have to get her back. Why can't you see that?"

We both turned to the sounds of soft, mournful weeping. Jool stood behind me in the doorway. Her arms folded, holding herself – her face again wet with tears. Locks of her golden hair plastered to her damp face. All the devotion in the universe she gave to him and it still never placated her to his heart. He still held on to a useless aspiration to get back someone who, to the rest of the universe, never even existed. I watched her turn and walk away - a broken heart trailing behind her.

"I guess Aeryn and I aren't the only victims," I said.

****

_Time... ends_

There was a pause, then the universe blinked, and I felt myself being pulled apart.

Moya shakes violently. It's enough to tear me out of another dream and throw me straight out of my bed, scraping myself against the irregular textures of the bulkhead. The fact that I'm nude does not help the situation.

I can barely breathe. My vision is blurred and indistinct, but I can see everywhere at once. My ears are assailed by every sound in existence at once, and it blocks out Pilot's frightened pleas for help over the comms. My feet clumsily struggle for balance, for a chance to get level again, but there is no up or down anymore. The floor is the ceiling; the ceilings are walls, and so on. I draw breathe through my nostrils, my navel, my ears. My consciousness expands with the breadth of the universe.

_Everything has changed..._

The field before me slowly unfolds, revealing realities that have layered over each other. I feel Moya's skin peel away from above and reveal the unquiet void all around me. Like Crichton, I am experiencing time, experiencing space. Images flash before me and burn themselves into my memory. In a fleeting instant I see it all and what it is. I become the universe. Universe am I.

Through this window, the patterns of stars shift out of place and back again. I watch planets collide and morph together into larger worlds. Gas clouds swirl and rotate violently, like storms forming worlds as quickly as they drown them. Stars swell a thousand times their size and die, taking whole systems with them in a funerary blaze. Time is gone. The beginning and the end suggest themselves all at once and start over.

And I – I stand at the edge of the abyss and watch...

In one universe, I saw the war where the Scarran Imperium was victorious. Entire races deemed useless – Sebaceans included – were systematically exterminated. In another, the Peacekeepers won, their domination unhinged as the galaxy fell under their boot. Still in others, no one wins – the destruction so great that the whole of space was a graveyard. There were so many routes and causeways to a hard and tragic demise.

Then, the realities folded and warped. I saw a great blue organism the size of a star system float languidly through space, hungrily consuming all worlds in its path. It continued to the stars – suffocating and absorbing them to fuel an endless appetite. It fed itself until only a void remained. In another reality, all organic life had been replaced by machinery – the soft finite life of the flesh deemed to inefficient to thrive. But without the ability to experience pleasure and pain – the joys and the sorrows – they became empty of soul. I watched whole civilizations of metal, plastic and synthetics succumb to madness and destroy themselves. Yet in others, all life is blind – a poetic justice for all our sins.

Images of Moya and her crew shoot in and out of my perception. Crichton, Chiana, Rygel, Stark. Everyone. Alive. Dead. Transformed. Deformed. Endless possibilities and outcomes. I see myself in fleeting glimpses. It makes me dizzy. It's too much to take in.

There is a moment where I see a woman. She is pale, with long black hair, high cheekbones and full lips. She is holding a child in her arms. Everything he was looking for. In an instant she is gone and I think I was hallucinating.

I collapsed to the deck, feeling the ship shaking violently through my whole core before I black out.

When I woke up, Crichton was cradling my head in his lap.

"No time left," was all he said.

****

_Time was_...

On Crichton's orders, Pilot sets a course for Tormented Space; the entrance point for his final attempt. Despite the rough ride, we all have time to rest. I see to the others returning to their rooms and I finally relax. I lay flat on my back, drifting in and out of restful sleep. I turn my head gently and I can hear the familiar muffled sounds of lovemaking from the room he shares with Jool down the corridor. Soft moans, passionate kisses, talk of forgiveness and even a distinct "I love you" reach my ears before they drift off.

I don't even remember waking up. I'm running to the command deck and wondering why Moya and everything else is so quiet when we are in the heart of Tormented Space. There was no low rumble of the engines. No sounds of the ventilation systems. There were no DRDs scurrying about. I didn't see any of the others. No Stark, Rygel, the Norantis or even Jool. Pilot did not answer any of my hails.

As for myself, I felt surprisingly peaceful. There were no aggravations, no anger and no anxiety. I almost broke into a casual walk to the command deck.

He was standing in front of the viewscreen by himself when I walked in. He was already wearing the black spacesuit he used. The helmet hung lightly in his one hand. The star field before us was devoid of any light – save for a gas giant in the distance emitting a soft green glow. He didn't even turn his head when I approached.

"We're here," I said. It was more of a statement, not a question.

"Yeah. This is it." Crichton said. "Point of entry."

"Where are the stars?"

"They're gone," he responded. "Fading away. Everyone and everything is, including Moya. I have to go now, too."

He then turned and faced me. I didn't recognize the look in his eyes. This was different from all the other times he made the attempt. It unnerved me. I should have felt this, along with what he felt, and yet I didn't.

I want you to realize, if I succeed, you won't be here. None of this will be here. You won't remember this either. Everything will be back in its place. Life, the universe and everything will be back to square one."

I nodded. I told myself a thousand times I would be ready for this moment. I _thought _I would be ready for this moment. "I'll be back on the Royal Planet, won't I?"

He nodded. "_If_ I succeed. We'll be gone either way. But, I have to make it right for you. For Aeryn..."

"For all of us," I corrected him.

He smiled slightly. "I'm sorry for everything I put you through."

"Don't be. We got a chance to know each other. I'm glad for that."

So then, we hugged. "Goodbye, daughter," was the last thing he said to me.

He exited the ship and floated out to the entry point. For a moment he was silhouetted against the gas giant in the distance. As I watched, I shed tears that I thought no longer existed and felt my body becoming lighter, losing its very mass. I held up my hand and I saw through it. The universe was fading and we were going with it.

I kept my eyes open, refusing to look away. In that moment the universe ended – and began – at the same time. But only if he succeeded. John Crichton, architect of the universe – and its destroyer.

This is how he would be remembered. Every time that you look into the night sky and see constellations that never existed before, you will know he was here. Every race, every language, every plant and animal, strange and wonderful are here because of him. You will know him from every tear ever shed, every infant's wail, everyone that is born and will eventually die. Birth through death. I think about the dead. If you could only see the trail of dead...

I picture two lives for me. The first one is where I wake up in a green field under a vivid blue sky on a planet far from where we were, eager to walk back home to a dinner and the comfort of loving arms. The other, an infinite blackness. Yet, this death was a gentle and warm release, not a sad, lonely demise to be feared. Either existence was welcome. I reflected on these things as I felt time finally dissolve around me.

I saw the flash of light that took him with it.

There was a pause, then the universe blinked, and then silence.

And it remained only in my memory.

_~Finis_


End file.
